Jack didn’t respond. Fear didn’t come into it. Rage did. He didn’t know if he could stop himself from punching the Colonel in the jaw. All the wasted years when Jack could have been a brother to his six siblings, a son to his mother. All lost because Colonel Pat Kincaid couldn’t accept Jack’s decision in Panama.
What was he supposed to do? Let innocent civilians die because the intelligence had been wrong? He had been forced to act, even though by disobeying direct orders he could have jeopardized the mission. Jack had been willing to be reprimanded for that decision, even if it had resulted in a court-martial.
Pat Kincaid hadn’t even allowed his son to take the heat.
“Take my plane,” Scout offered.
Jack cracked a half-smile. Scout babied his Cessna. He didn’t like anyone flying it, even Jack.
“You must want to get rid of me.”
“I want you to see your family.” Scout’s fingers danced on the scarred table. “I have no family. I’m married to this job. But I’m older than you, I don’t know how many more years I’m going to be able to do this. And then what? My parents are long dead, I have no wife, not even an ex-wife I can bitch about. No kids that I know of-a couple cousins I haven’t seen in half a lifetime. You have something damn rare, and though you don’t talk about it, I know you’ve enjoyed your visits with your brothers and sisters. Right, Padre?”
He nodded. “I’d say so.”
Jack shuffled, under fire. “Dillon and I have come to terms.” It was good to have his brother back, even though it wasn’t the same as when they were kids. And he was getting used to Dillon’s girlfriend, though he was still wary about the fed. Maybe because she seemed to know too much about him without trying. Jack demanded privacy.
“I’ve known you for how long?” Scout asked.
It was a rhetorical question, but Jack answered. “Nineteen years.”
“Nineteen years,” Scout said before Jack finished. “I buried your puke when you got malaria in fucking Belize, so I think I got some say in your life. Go to San Diego. See your family. It’s not like the team and I are going to up and disappear on you.”
Jack stared at his beer.
“You want to,” Scout said.
“Jack.” Padre spoke quietly and Jack looked at him. “Don’t let your father stop you from doing what you need to do.”
“I don’t want a confrontation.”
“I’m not going to tell you what you should do.”
“You want me to forget.”
“You can’t forget.”
Padre was the only person who knew exactly what had happened in Panama that caused Colonel Kincaid to disown his oldest son.
“You want me to forgive.” Jack could barely say the word while thinking of his father.
“I don’t want you to do anything. But I know how important reconnecting with your brother has been, how invested you are in your family’s well-being, and how guilty you’ve felt over what happened to Patrick. Sometimes, face-to-face is better than a cell phone. You need a truce.”
Padre was right. Jack wanted to be in San Diego for his family, but he also needed to be there for himself.
Jack turned to Scout. “You’ll loan me your plane?”
“Hell, if I’d known it’d be this easy to convince you, I’d have said you could fly commercial.” Scout laughed. “Yeah, you can borrow her. Just be careful, okay? She’s a bit temperamental, prefers a light touch, and sometimes you’re a might heavy-handed, know what I mean?”
“I’ll treat her as if she were my own.”
“God, no. Treat her like she’s my plane.”
Jack laughed and sat down next to Scout and Padre, feeling the tension dissipate. “I’ll leave at oh six hundred, be back in twenty-four hours.”
“Take all the time you want,” Scout said.
“I can’t take too much time off. Bills to pay,” Jack said. “Twenty-four is about all I can spare.” And all he could take, knowing everything could blow up if his father pushed.
The door opened and Chief of Police Art Perez and two of his deputy cronies sauntered in. “Great,” Scout mumbled.
“Leave it alone,” Jack said, not taking his dark eyes off the head cop. Perez didn’t want Jack in Hidalgo anymore than Jack wanted Perez as the chief of police. Neither of them could do anything about the other, and Jack lived outside the city limits, so Perez couldn’t even harass him effectively.
Except here.
Six foot two-a half inch taller than Jack, but with a paunch that suggested fifty pounds heavier and a disdain for regular exercise-Perez strode over to the table, hands in his belt. He had the demeanor of a man who had to prove his manhood each and every day.
“Father,” Perez acknowledged Padre. His mother worked at the rectory part-time and liked Father Francis. Hispanic men almost always deferred to their mothers, especially in matters of faith.
But Jack wasn’t a priest, and hadn’t even made a very good altar boy thirty years ago. He hadn’t won Mrs. Perez over.
“How are you, Art?” Padre said. “Would you like to join us?”
“Another time.” Perez stared at Jack. Jack stared back. Perez turned to Scout. “I heard you had some excitement down in Guatemala.”
“Not much,” Scout said. “Maybe we can find some here.”
“We have an early morning.” Jack stood. The last thing he needed was Scout sitting in jail indefinitely for assaulting the chief of police. It had happened once before, when Scout and Deputy Leon started a bar fight.
Padre picked up on the cue, though Scout was slower on the uptake. It was earlier than his usual close-down-the-bar night.
“Yes,” Padre took Scout’s arm. “You need to fuel the plane.”
“Going somewhere?” Perez asked.
“Personal,” Jack said.
The silence was thick. Scout mumbled something about men with big guns and small dicks and Perez reddened.
Jack extracted them from the tense situation and they went outside. Nearly midnight and still warm, but the humid breeze off the Rio Grande felt good.
“Want to fly me out to San Diego?” he asked Scout.
“Naw, I have a date with Rina and the boys Wednesday morning.”
“I’ll be back by then.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but I don’t want to miss taking the boys to their first Major League ball game. Just take care of Carrie, okay?”
Jack had never named any of the planes he flew, though Carrie the Caravan was Scout’s pride and joy. To Jack, planes were simply transpo.
“Of course. Let me give you a ride home.”
Ethan-he’d dumped his first name in favor of his middle when he returned to the United States-didn’t think it had been a good idea to snatch Price’s dog tag, and he definitely didn’t think it had been smart to mail it to the FBI, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to upset Karin. He didn’t want her to leave him. She’d saved his life and he needed her.
Far back in his mind, Ethan knew she needed him as well-she wanted him to teach her all the tricks of his trade, his unusual aptitude for acupuncture. But that was certainly a modest exchange. He couldn’t have done any of this without her, and he’d be grateful for the rest of his life. The life he owed her.
“You okay?” she asked as he drove south.
“Fine, love.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. Clear.
“What are you thinking?”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” he said. “What if they trace the dog tags back to you? I can’t lose you.” His bottom lip trembled and he bit it hard enough to draw blood. He barely felt the puncture.
She leaned over and wiped the blood from his lip with her index finger. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her put her finger with his bright red blood into her mouth, then sucked her finger with her eyes closed, a half-smile on her lips.
He swallowed thickly and squirmed in his seat.
“They won’t trace it to me, or you, or anyone. It’s a game, Ethan. They’ll be chasing their tails. I wish I could watch.” She laughed, as if she were amused.
They’d gone out of their way to mail the package from Reno-not only far from their next destination, but it would point the police in the wrong direction. Because so far her plans had worked exactly as she’d promised, Ethan believed her. And he loved her.